New Vow
by Diane Langley
Summary: Benvolio was so quick to turn Romeo away from his love for Rosaline, but did he have cause beyond just cousinly care? Perhaps it was a forbidden love of his own that he cared not to share? [BR]


_Author's Note I: This is a Romeo and Juliet ficlet that takes place during (and ever so slightly after) the play. It is like a subplot that came to me during an English assignment that I just had to write. The premise is: _Benvolio was so keen to turn Romeo away from Rosaline; was there an ulterior motive, a reason for his eagerness?

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Her elbows rested on the cool, polished marble of her windowsill as she peered out into the murky darkness. Clouds, hanging in pale lines against the black sky, shrouded the stars from her visage. Rosaline's lips tugged downward in a melancholy frown as she waited. At any second, at any tick of the ever-moving clock, he would be arriving, sweeping in with the authority, audacity, and appeal that was all his own. Aggressive though many Montagues had proven themselves to be, her love was no such aggravator. Reason and serenity were his weapons of choice, and she had watched them quell fights as surely as cool water dispelled a fire.

"Rosaline," her name fluttered through the air, borne on the wings of a warm baritone. She turned on her heel, surprised. He stood in her doorway. His dark hair framed his face, loose against the pale, angular cheekbones her lips had so oft brushed. If she were but a few steps closer, she knew that his eyes would glow out at her, the brightest hue of amber-mahogany she had ever witnessed. Moving quickly towards him, feet pattering against the stone floor, she hurried past to push the door shut so that no sound could escape and fall upon unnecessary ears.

"You risk both of us by coming in here," she scolded, but the words lacked all harshness. He had come for her, and she had wanted him to do it. Both knew this. "I shan't allow it again," a playful lilt rippled through her voice.

"You shan't? And who are you, but a simple maiden, to stop me?" He echoed, catching her wrists as she went to walk past him again. Drawing her close, he smiled. She leant against him, body lining up against his like two perfectly matching pieces to a puzzle. His eyes met hers, and a shiver trailed up her spine and down over every appendage. Their mouths, so close that the breath slipping through his parted lips became her own, longed to meet.

"Your words play on my emotions most slyly, good sir. Mean you to tell me that your intentions are anything but honorable?" She replied coyly. Her lean arms slid around his back, clutching the silky material of his loosely fit shirt in lithe fingers.

"Everything but honorable," he murmured huskily, lips catching hers. Muscles tightening, she felt his do the same as the sweet, intoxicating taste of his kiss sent her into drunken delight. A giggle, a light melodious bout of laughter, burst from her as they parted, and she held him tightly for support, to keep her feet beneath her as they threatened to send her tumbling. Damn him, the source of her weak knees and broken promises. A lifetime of chastity was but a farce now, when she could not find herself a moment in his presence without breaking such a lifetime.

"You dare not do anything dishonorable, when your own cousin, the not as fair Romeo, is still besotted with me,"

"I am working on it, milady. I have invited him to feast with the enemy this night, assuring him that I can find him a woman all the more worthy and beautiful than you,"

"Does such exist?"

"No," he answered strongly. Tilting her chin towards him, he kissed her again. As her heart pounded against her ribs, she pulled away.

"I belong to you, my lord, but I cannot ask you to break your own kin's heart. Turn him to a new pleasure, and I shall be able to be yours,"

"Ay, Rosaline, I must be away and lead Romeo to delights he has yet to imagine," they kissed again briefly, lips wanting most desperately to linger though their owners would not allow such.

"Good Benvolio, I await your return," she stepped backwards out of his embrace and pulled the door open. "Now away before you, a Montague of dishonorable intention, are caught in the home of a Capulet of purest oath. Such an ensnarement would be fatal for us both,"

He slipped out of the room and down the dim corridor without a sound.

X

Rosaline's mind was troubled. Her cousin, the fiery Tybalt with explosive temper and quick tongue, sought a challenge with Romeo, Benvolio's cousin, of faint heart and fickle affection. Such ends of their families, still caught in modern feud and fuss, were unwarranted and undesirable. _No good can come of evil,_ she thought darkly as she walked down the street. Her dress, stark white and plain, swelled around her slender body as a breeze played up the stale, sticky Verona heat. She heard commotion, noise likened to that of a riot, and hurried to the sound. Fearful premonition bit at her heart.

As her footsteps carried her ever closer, she heard the voice so dear to her heart. Benvolio stood at the center of a crowd, of a gathering, a huddled mass of warm bodies surrounding a corpse. He spun a tale, telling it with great emotion, moving his blood-stained hands as he spoke. She listened to the crack of his voice as he told a story too terrible for her to comprehend. Tybalt slain? Her heart cracked along with her love's voice. The Prince spoke, but she could not hear his words. Benvolio's still hung in her head, draped over her consciousness.

As the crowd dissipated, going in two separate groups, she watched her kinsmen bear off the casualty, their dead Tybalt. Benvolio sank to his knees, face in his hands as his shoulders began to shake. She looked to and fro, seeing no one left to bear witness to her actions. Rushing forward, her arms flung around his trembling shoulders. His weight sank and sagged against her as he wept. Rasps in his throat betrayed his pain as surely as the hot, salty tears that fell upon her. Realization of her own tears, of her own grief, hit her, and she felt sharp tears sting at her eyes.

"My truest friend, my closest ally, my cousin, Mercutio," Benvolio spoke suddenly, his voice playing in a stark, raw note of anguish. The tone was like the darkest of songs, heart wrenching and painful to hear. "Dead, dead at the fault of your cousin,"

"My cousin, who is also dead. There is no place for blame among corpses," she chided quietly, surprised at the stark pain in her voice. They held one another close for a long while, ignoring the sweat, blood, and tears that mingled freely on their skin. Their arms hungered for this companionship. They needed this to cause the pain to subside. The only way to ease the aching hearts was to hold on tight.

"Rosaline, I must go to Romeo,"

"He's a murderer," she hissed, throat constricting as she buried her face in the slope of his neck, nose brushing against his Adam's apple. She felt his hands clench down on wrists, and she cried out softly, looking up into his eyes. Fire, fierce and unrelenting, danced in them.

"A murderer of a murderer," he growled

"Ah, does that justify it?" She said, tears beginning to stream down her thin cheeks again, leaving crystalline trails. His gaze softened, and he released her wrists. She felt the imprint of his fingers on them as those same fingers moved up to brush the next tear away.

"Never," he answered, almost gently. He rose to his feet, pulling her with him. She saw his tears, still sparkling on his face, and regretted her harsh words. His pain was greater than hers; he had truly loved his cousin. It had not been just thick blood between he and Mercutio; there had been true camaraderie.

"I will see you again soon," she spoke the words like a question. The sadness etched on his face deepened.

"I want to see you again," he replied weakly by way of answer. "But I can make no promises,"

"If you leave with Romeo, I will never forgive you," she said fiercely, lips quivering. He laughed sadly. The sound was a blow to her already downed emotions. His fingers cradled her chin, cupping it up to bring his lips to her trembling ones. The kiss felt far too much like farewell.

"Goodbye, my love," he murmured against her mouth.

"God be with you, Benvolio," she replied as he slipped away from her.

"And with you," he concluded, beginning up the street. Her eyes, blurred with more wretched tears, found the bloody stains on her clean white dress. She saw the destruction of innocence.

X

Death, like an angel of shadow, should never be allowed to claim the lives of youth. Its claim lay in withered hearts, aged bodies; it should never have been permitted to sweep in and steal away a girl of thirteen and a man of sixteen. Rosaline leaned over the coffin, pearly tears cascading down her cheeks. Juliet's hair was braided in two long braids piled on top of her head, and her face was still and ghostly, as a white as the sheet it lay against. It was hard to see death in the face of a girl so young.

Yet, for the first time in many lifetimes, Montagues and Capulets were gathered peacefully in the same place, standing elbow to elbow, side by side, and mourning together. Looking down at Romeo's casket was Benvolio. His face was drawn tight. The sadness, pain, and confusion of the past weeks showed there on his strong features. Her eyes misted as she looked at him and then back to her cousin's coffin. Would she die for love the way Juliet had? She had known Benvolio longer; their love was just as true. Would she die for it? Rather than ponder the question, she stepped quietly past the mourners to look at the other corpse before lifting her gaze to Benvolio. He was studying her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I am sorry for your loss," she whispered to him, as formality demanded.

"I am sorry for yours," he replied. One of his strong hands reached down to fold around one of hers. He brushed a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes immediately darted around, staring at all the people who could see, but he caught her gaze firmly, a stoic smile gracing his face. "It matters not if they see us,"

"But my vows, our differences," she protested softly, so as not to draw attention to the way their hands were twined or the way his other hand rested on her hip or even the way their eyes met so deliberately. He shook his head, smiling at her strangely. His lips curved upwards in an almost sly smile before he spoke next,

"They do not matter. I love you, Rosaline, and I am going to ask your father's permission for your hand," he was quiet, but made no attempt of being secretive about his words. This was a tune that all should be allowed to dance to.

She knew that there were eyes on them, but she did not care. Her heart had never beat so wildly before, and it had never dared to dream that she would be lucky enough to hear him say those words, but oh how she had prayed that they were true, that they would actually be spoken. Calling someone your love was more of a term of endearment than an actual profession of the deep emotion. To hear him actually say it, she felt tears, not of sadness from the funeral but of joy, sheer unadulterated joy, well up in her eyes.

"I love you, Benvolio," she replied gently. He was already sweeping her up in his arms and pressing his mouth to hers before she even finished the words.

Now, Rosaline knew the bittersweet joy of love. Never had she been happier, but she understood where Romeo and Juliet had come from. Death over separation…now that was understandable. Just as Romeo and Juliet were to be together forevermore, she wanted Benvolio and Rosaline to never be separate again. Of one love and one being, she kissed him back, sealing a new vow, a vow of love to one man forever and always.

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_Author's Note II: Yes, I know it is unusual. I did want the style to be completely casual, but I did not make it Shakespearean either for fear of doing that incorrectly. Please review and tell me what you thought of it, premise and execution. Thank you._


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